


Trickster, Trickster, free me with your silver tongue

by AkumaStrife



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, The non-con is only mentioned, movie verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkumaStrife/pseuds/AkumaStrife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Loki puts the hawk under his control, and Clint loses faith in himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trickster, Trickster, free me with your silver tongue

Loki grins feral at him, all smug satisfaction and twisted intent. Like a scorned ex getting revenge. Like a child; a princeling given a servant playmate. Maybe he is. All that and more, because Loki is unfathomable and powerful and an enigma that has no real answer.

Clint lives in a frosty blue daze. In a cold world with only Loki and his cold smile and his cold touch to keep him company. And there’s supposed to be a warm spark still somewhere inside him, buried deep just out of his reach. A warm spark of red hair and stained coffee mugs and a taser.

“Tell me something, whatever, I don’t care what,” Loki says. So he does. Spills little quirks about Coulson and Fury’s routines and pranks S.H.I.E.L.D. agents play on each other. Recounts them out loud for his own benefit, to remind himself that there’s still hope. _That he’s still in there somewhere._

Pale blue control like glass that he’s stuck on the other side of, beating his fists against and screaming. Fighting because sometimes he’s there, conscious enough to know what he’s doing, but his body moving to Loki’s will alone. His legs walking and his lips moving and his arms drawing back arrow after arrow _someone please stop me._

But sometimes he just _stops_. Weary and limp like a worn out toy. He gives in, tells himself it’s to regain his strength, to quietly plot under the radar for a way to break free. But deep down it’s because there’s a small part of him that is so damn relieved to be ordered and controlled. To not be held responsible for his own actions. To have that weight lifted off his shoulders. Loki told the human race that they craved to be ruled and, no matter how they fight him, deep down Clint believes that. Because although he’ll never ever tell a soul, sometimes it makes him feel light, _so free_.

“Kneel at my feet,” Loki says. So he does. Puts his head in Loki’s lap when prompted, lets Loki finger comb through his hair. Is ordered to lick his boots. Is humiliated like some broken pet.

“Tell me about the woman,” Loki says. So he does. Both with horror and joy because _Natasha_. Just her name takes the edge off the chill. He knows everything about Natasha. She’s familiar; comforting. He talks about her rare smiles and the way she moves and which foods she likes best and the books she likes to read and her favorite weapons and her past and _Budapest_.

Tasha.

Tasha.

_Tasha._

_Save me._

_Please god I’m so sorry._

_Kill me._

“Suck me,” Loki says. So he does. Sinks to his knees and obeys.

“Tell me what you like your lovers to do to you,” Loki says. So he does. Tells him what makes him tick. Phrases and touches that make him gasp and keen and shake like a bitch in heat; and underneath that frigid control like a blizzard he is so ashamed. Feels like he’ll never scrub himself clean of Loki. Like there will always be a small shard of him lodged deep under his skin, somewhere private and sacred at his core and every once in a while he’ll brush against it and shiver with revulsion, his bones aching of winter.

Sinking into him, or being consumed by him, relishing in naked flesh and sharp angles. Because that is familiar, that is something he knows; lets it drown him and helps him forget. Forget what he’s done, what he’s doing now, what more Loki will make him do. No. What he’ll do for Loki. Because he’s sure in Asgardian Sleep Away Magic Camp there’s a lesson on how hypnosis is only as strong as your subject is weak and his will must be so fragile to be so ensnared, to not be able to break free like real heroes always do.

_He has no one to blame but himself._

When Nat finally knocks it out of him, when he first sees her as himself, for a moment he is broken and afraid, is sure it’s another one of Loki’s tricks. Because it would not be the first time he’s worn her shape to punish him. Taken her face and ordered him to hurt her. Worn her body and commanded him to fuck her.

She tries to sooth him, convince him it wasn’t his fault, but he will _never_ be able to atone for what he has done.

 

“Tell me how many,” Clint says. But she won’t. And that simple act of refusal shouldn’t relieve him as much as it does.


End file.
